in fear of what my life may be
by Minya-Mari
Summary: 'But his eyes had not changed; still grey as her family's colours, and stern as their father's had ever been.' A drabble series centring around Arya and Jon. Some of these oneshots may be related, but when in doubt, assume they're not.
1. Chapter 1

Because it's freezing here, and I literally have nothing else to procrastinate with.

Also, just ask if you have a prompt you want me to write.

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_Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, or His Dark Materials, nor any of the characters therein. I'm just playing with them for a little while._

_**Title:**__ in fear of what my life may be_

_**Summary:**_ 'But his eyes had not changed; still grey as her family's colours, and stern as their father's had ever been.'

A drabble series centring around Arya and Jon. Some of these oneshots may be related, but when in doubt, assume they're not.

_**Genre:**_ _adventure/friendship/love/everything in between_

* * *

The woman atop the grey direwolf looked every inch a wilding, and Jon Snow would have demanded from Mance an answer had dragons over head and an army at her back did not accompany the direwolf's every step.

As it was, King Stannis did not look at all pleased. Melisandre had foreseen dragons landing upon the wall, had warned Jon against sending anymore men to search for his little brother in Skaagos after Ser Davos had returned empty handed. They'd need them here, she'd said. She did not say what for, though, and that made Jon uneasy.

She'd brought Jon back using her fires. _Only death pays for life_. (It was R'hllor, she'd told him, again and again, but Jon still did not entirely believe).

Jon leant further against the rough wood of the stairs above the gate, long face solemn.

The woman raised her sword and shouted something that sounded vaguely like an insult. Stannis Baratheon snorted, the men along the gate jeered in return.

A deep, metallic scream answered them. A cream wyrm, with gold for horns and spikes, flew lower than its' brothers.

The men who had previously been leering at the woman below now cowered at their posts.

Jon watched as the direwolf between her legs raised its head to cry at the white sky. To his astonishment, Ghost joined the song; a sadness lacing through it. It was long and low, and he only stopped when the other direwolf did also.

The woman turned her head to the men behind her, then back shouting, "We do not come to fight!"

"What do you come here for?" Stannis hollered back before Jon could process the words. The Lord Commander frowned down at the woman.

A green serpent joined the cream in flying lower, and it screamed so loud Jon thought that he'd go deaf. It paused in its' flight, choosing instead, to hover by the gate; great jade wings beating at the air and throwing some of Jon's brothers to the ground with the sheer power of them.

It wasn't far from the ice-coated earth; its tail still lay upon the ground, carving thick divots into the dirt beneath the ice. A man with shoulder-length, silver-blonde hair clad in black armour sat where the neck met the shoulders. He grinned savagely at them.

_"The Others,"_ he cried in answer.

.

The gates opened, and Arya watched as men clad in thick, black cloaks parted to allow a few of Aegon's men inside Castle Black's yard.

A man that had once had a youthfulness to his face that, six or so years ago, Arya Stark would have rejoiced at seeing, was frowning at her. As it was, they both stood stock still in place, mere feet from the other. He had a beard now, and his dark hair curled at his throat and brushed his black cloak. A scar cut down his left cheek, but his eyes had not changed; still grey as her family's colours, and stern as their father's had ever been.

_"Jon,"_ she breathed, a plume of silver leaving her mouth at the words.

Her name left his own, but otherwise neither moved, too scared to break the spell; as if the other would disappear into smoke if they moved.

King Stannis glanced with narrowed eyes between them, asked what was going on, and Arya launched herself into Jon's arms. He caught her with a rush of air leaving his lungs, and Arya buried her face in his neck.

The hysterical laughter that bubbled up from her chest was a thing she could not stop. She clutched to his wide shoulders with a desperation she'd held in since seeing the Wall and knowing him to be at its base.

All Arya could hear while she held him,-besides the own pounding of her blood- (because she was making a fool of herself, but couldn't bring herself to care) was his earnest murmurings of, "You're alive, you're safe" and he held her so tightly she was sure her ribs would bruise. Her feet weren't touching the ground, and it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable to be this close to another person again as she'd thought it would be.

When Arya finally pulled back, he let her go slowly, grey eyes never leaving her face. "Little sister," he said, voice thick with emotion. Arya couldn't make her fingers let loose of his sleeve, hand tangling in the fur and leather. "Where have you been?"

Arya shook her head, glanced around them. "Later." She said, and glanced over her shoulder.

Aegon cleared his throat, and Arya scowled at the silver-haired ponce. "_Don't, Egg_." She snapped in Braavosi, eyes hard as steel. "_Later. Everything will be discussed later_."

Aegon was happy with that, it seemed. He cast a bemused look to his half-brother and walked off with Stannis to talk over their way of attack against the White Walkers just over the Wall.

Arya was simply pleased to finally have family with her again.


	2. Chapter 2: my fading voice sings of love

_Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, or His Dark Materials, nor any of the characters therein. I'm just playing with them for a little while._

_**Title:**__ in fear of what my life may be_

_**Summary:**_ 'But his eyes had not changed; still grey as her family's colours, and stern as their father's had ever been.'

A drabble series centring around Arya and Jon. Some of these oneshots may be related, but when in doubt, assume they're not.

_**Genre:**_ _adventure/friendship/love/everything in between_

* * *

Arya rarely leaves his side after they find each other again. As if she is afraid that he will disappear, fade into nothing more than dust-like Father, like Winterfell.

Ghost and Nymeria shadow their steps, hulking mountains of white and grey. When she sleeps, it is in the crook of his arm, wild hair a tangle around them both, and he cannot find it within himself to push her away.

It isn't proper, but then, he thinks, when has Arya ever been proper? And it isn't as if he trusts any of his brothers with her, no, not any further than he can throw them - she's still only a little girl; and they rapers and thieves.

Arya does not seem to share his concerns, though. Making friends with Grenn and Pip and the rest like she was born to it, and Jon despairs over her recklessness when she openly taunts Tormund Giantsbane.

Tormund, though, takes the girl's japes in stride, laughing before poking her in the side. _You've got balls girl, for one so small_. And just like that, they're interacting as if they've known each other for years.

Jon notices the golden bands she hands over, and doesn't say a thing.

But, besides Tormund and Val _(You like her, don't lie -you'd have to be blind and deaf and dumb not to _I_ like her_) , Arya doesn't truly talk with anyone else. It is Jon she confides in, Jon she weeps with; but she does not speak of her time across the Narrow Sea, and he decides that he will have to content himself with that.

Her chin rests on his shoulder now, her legs tangled with his, and he knows that normal grown siblings don't do this. They did this as children, he remembers-before her Lady mother had deemed it too scandalous- and thinks that perhaps it is the comfort, that this sense of _familiarity_ the embrace gives is reason why.

It is the only way she sleeps, she tells him. Being in his arms makes her feel safe. And Jon needs her to be just that; _safe._

Because he couldn't help Robb or Lady Catelyn or Father or Sansa or the boys and gods...

His arms tighten around her sleeping form, and Arya frowns in her dreams, pressing closer like a pup - seeking the warmth he gives. Staring at her serene face, Jon loses himself in thought. She looks her age when she sleeps.

Sam says that he met her when the ship carrying he and Gilly docked in Braavos, that she saved him from the Bravoes and then fed him. (Sam also suspects that-now knowing who she is- it was she whom killed Daeron).

Jon doesn't like to dwell on that fact.

He lets himself bury his nose in her hair and drift into oblivion.

.

It takes three years, but she does open up. But it is only after the new King deigns to visit the Wall.

That Arya already seems to know him, and the way he acts the lovesick fool makes Jon bristle. Arya spits on Aegon Targaryen's affections, throws them back in his face along with his promises, and disappears into Castle Black like a ghost to lick her wounds.

Jon cannot find her for hours-and _really,_ what does it say that the Lord Commander can't find one girl in his own stronghold?- but he eventually does. She's in one of the old towers, glaring out the window at the snow as it falls by her feet. (Nymeria's massive frame draped around her like a cloak may have also given her away).

He hears her sniff, and sees her wipe her face free of traces of tears and he pauses. Ghost is as silent as ever by his side; intent and altogether all to _aware._

"Arya?" Jon asks, stepping forward. He strokes Nan's ears and the she-wolf settles again, Ghost laying by her. Arya only glares out and away, does not say a word in response. Jon waits.

After what feels like forever, she mutters, "I met him in Esoss. He and his Dragon-queen aunt."

She moves until her shoulder brushes his, and then until she is leaning into him. Still she does not glance up and meet his eyes, only stares at her gloved hands with an intensity bordering on hatred. "He was pretty," she finally says. "And I was stupid for only a moment…"

Jon knows what she means, does nothing more than move to rest his chin on the crown of her head. But the tension does not leave her body. There is a pain laced into her words, he finds. He likes it not. "He promised that he would marry me, and I know he meant it. But then, of course things happened." She laughed bitterly. "They always do."

She finally glanced up at him. Her eyes are red-rimmed from weeping, and her face is flushed from the cold, but her eyes are still fearless, still very much Arya. "He returned to Dorne to wed his cousin... and I finally see him after years and all he has to say is that he is sorry."

Jon felt like punching something, preferably the silver-haired prick speaking with Lord Stannis. She sees his expression and quickly objects. "Oh, Jon _no._ He did not steal my honour from me... what little I have left of it." She touches his face with a gentle hand. "I was no maid when I went to him," Arya confesses with a lop-sided grin, and pulls her hand back to her side. "It only _irks_ me that Aegon compares himself and I to Rhaegar and Lyanna."

Arya leans up and presses a kiss to the corner of Jon's mouth, and he almost, _almost_ pulls her back and _oh,_ how he wanted to kiss her properly then, as a man kisses a woman.

The urge frightens him, makes his breath quicken in panic, and he lets her go without a word.

Jon isn't sure how long he stands in that abandoned tower, chin tucked against his chest, with Ghost at his side.

Long enough, it seems, that Arya takes notice and returns in a rush.

The only thing he registers is that her body is flush against his and that her lips are chapped and warm and that sense of familiarity sinks in.


End file.
